


Hubris

by avantegarda



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, feanor is one hundred percent That Dad, if you're looking for substance you came to the wrong neighborhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avantegarda/pseuds/avantegarda
Summary: Fëanor cannot and will not stop bragging about his children.





	Hubris

**Author's Note:**

> Fëanor is, without a doubt, Valinor's Most Annoyingly Proud Father.

“All my sons are brilliant, of course, which you’ll be able to see for yourself soon enough. With the exception of my wonderful eldest, Maitimo, who was not able to be here tonight, more’s the pity. In addition to being extremely handsome, he only just finished his loremaster’s exams, and he finished first in his class, with great honors.”

“That is very impressive, sir. If I may...”

“In fact, I have heard that he received the highest marks on his language and history exams of any student since...well, me. No mean feat, that.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes indeed, and not only that, his grandfather says he has never had such a diligent court page. That’s where Nelyo is tonight, you know, assisting at the palace. Of course, I am of the opinion that he could be doing something far more prestigious, but he was insistent on starting at the bottom as he didn’t want to abuse his royal status, a sentiment I find quite admirable. He’ll go far, that boy.”

“I’m very pleased to hear it, Your Grace. You must be very proud,” the young serving girl said politely, struggling to balance a tray of wine glasses on her arm. “But are you planning to order anything?”

 

“Prince Fëanáro! What a pleasure to see you in Valimar. Of course Aulë and I know how busy you are, but we are always delighted to hear about your family and your work. Aulë in particular has just been saying how much he is looking forward to speaking with you.”

“Busy as I am, I would be deeply disappointed in myself if I missed the Harvest Festival, Lady Yavanna,” Fëanor said, with a brisk, polite nod. He squeezed the shoulder of the skinny adolescent boy standing next to him, who had been reverently averting his eyes. “And of course you’ll remember my second son, Makalaurë, far and away the best musician in Tirion, if not the known world.” 

“But of course. We adored the show he wrote for last year’s festival, it was utterly charming,” Yavanna said, smiling indulgently. “How pleased you must be, to have such talented children!”

“Naturally. As a matter of fact, I’ve always been of the opinion that if you had Makalaurë on staff when you were creating the universe the world would be a much better place.”

“ _ Father!”  _ Maglor whispered, eyes wide in horror. There was a brief moment of stunned silence, before Yavanna finally let out a polite laugh. 

“I am sure you are quite correct, Curufinwë,” she said kindly. “We will have to make a note for next time.”

 

“Curufinwë, we must talk about young Tyelkormo.” 

“What about him, Father? He’s a delight, an absolute credit to his name.”

“Well, yes, of course he is, but…”

“Of course I was somewhat disappointed to find I had three children in a row who shared very few of my interests, but he’s certainly found his niche in hunting and exploration, and Oromë says he’s incredibly gifted with animals.”

“And I am overjoyed to hear it, but…”

“And he’s certainly got some of my linguistic talent, not so much in the area of of writing or analysis, but he can carry on a conversation with just about any animal you put in front of him, and I swear he chats with that dog of his more than he talks to any of his other brothers…” 

“I’m not denying that he is a very bright and courageous boy, Fëanáro,” Finwë said with irritation. “But must he track mud and blood across all my finest rugs? My housemaid has spent all morning threatening to quit.”

“Ah. Shall I have him assist her in scrubbing up?”

“That would be appreciated, yes. But have him bathe first.”

 

“Fëanáro, I’m a bit worried about Carnistir.”

Fëanor looked up in surprise from the parchment he was sketching on. “Eh? What’s to worry about, Nerdanel? He’s an extremely intelligent boy, brilliant head for numbers.”

“I know that perfectly well, dear. But his temper hasn’t improved a bit as he’s grown older. At fifteen he really ought to know better.”

“Well, I’ve got a bit of a temper myself, and yet no one is worried about me, are they?”

Nerdanel elected not to comment on this. “Yes, well, I need you to have a talk with Carnistir anyway. He needs to learn that it is completely unacceptable for a boy his age to go about  _ biting  _ people. He’ll do someone a serious injury before long.”

“Is he still doing that? Hm, perhaps I do need to have a chat with him. Tyelko had largely grown out of the biting phase by the time he was fifteen, and we can’t have Moryo lagging behind. Who did he bite?”

“Poor Findaráto,” Nerdanel replied, shaking her head sorrowfully. “The poor darling was very good about it, but he did have to head to the healers straight away before the bite became inflamed. I don’t think Carnistir quite realizes how sharp his teeth are.”

“Findaráto, you say?” Fëanor snorted and turned back to his sketching. “I can’t say I blame Moryo, that lad can be thoroughly infuriating. It’s criminal, the way Arafinwë spoils those children of his.”

Nerdanel let out a long-suffering sigh. “In that case,  _ I  _ will talk to Carnistir. I don’t trust you not to reward him.” 

 

“You know, Makalaurë, as proud as I am of every single one of you boys all of the time, you brother Curufinwë has really outdone himself today. The hunting knife he crafted for Tyelkormo is a masterpiece of engineering as well as aesthetics.”

“Mmm,” Maglor replied vaguely, not glancing up from the notebook where he was furiously scribbling lines of verse. Oblivious, Fëanor went on.

“I mean, honestly, they say I am the greatest craftsman of the Noldor, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that title belonged to your brother in a decade or two. It would be sad to think about, if I weren’t so incredibly proud of him. You’ll understand when you have children of your own, Makalaurë, how gratifying it can be to pass one’s skills on to the next generation, especially when they show such passion…”

“For the love of Yavanna, Father,” Maglor said finally, with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “I’m as pleased as anyone that you finally have someone to follow in your footsteps, but couldn’t you tell Curvo himself this instead of bothering me while I’m trying to write?”

“I did, as it happens,” Fëanor sighed. “But he only listened for about thirty seconds before begging me to leave the forge.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised.”

 

Fingolfin suppressed a sigh at the sight of his half-brother striding across the ballroom floor with a red-haired toddler in his arms. He was not entirely sure which of his youngest nephews it was, but had no doubt whatsoever that Fëanor was about to tell him, most likely in excruciating detail.

“Ah, Nolofinwë! I was wondering if I would see you here. Say hello to your half-uncle, Pityafinwë.”

The small boy in his arms gurgled cheerfully, and Fëanor gazed down at him with fondness. “I know you haven’t seen the twins much since they were born, Nolofinwë, but I’m sure you will be pleased to hear that they show every sign of being as brilliant as the rest of the boys. I’ve never met children more insatiably curious.”

Fingolfin glanced skeptically at little Amrod, who was contentedly chewing on a lock of Fëanor’s hair. “They are very sweet, certainly. And being your children, I would not be at all surprised if the twins turned out to be just as clever as their brothers. But don’t you think you may be getting just a bit ahead of yourself? They’re barely out of babyhood, after all.”

Fëanor looked at him with disdain. “As you say, Nolofinwë, they are  _ my  _ children. I think I am a perfectly good judge of their abilities.  _ You  _ may assume that all children are alike until they learn to speak, but I knew from the minute each of my sons was born how skilled they would be.” 

As if on cue, Amrod let out a wail, and the air filled with a scent that indicated he was definitely in need of a nappy change. Fëanor chuckled and, without another word to Fingolfin and Anairë, turned on his heel and stalked away.

“Well!” Anairë sniffed, frowning at Fëanor’s retreating back. “I see your brother’s manners haven’t improved much.”

“Don’t mind him, Anairë dear,” Fingolfin said. “He’s only bitter because he hasn’t got a daughter.”


End file.
